He twirled the sword about like a baton.

“Away.”

It vanished in a cloud of skulls. He grinned and knelt.

He said a sort of prayer, thankful for this knew found power, and asked for a door in which to leave. A door to some place where he might rest. He wished for an entrance to New York. And he wished for a way to return here.

Two stony archways appeared. Overhead on the keystone of the first doorway was the image of a simple bed. The other had the image of a few towering sky scrapers.

It was dark.

He had chosen the door with the bed first.

Disoriented, he moved about, perhaps to find a light.

Thud.

A spike of pain, and his knee throbbed.

Cursing under his breath, a sharp gasp was heard.

Someone else was in the room.

“Who is there?” The black, gruff voice commanded. This darkness held fear for the man. Something told him to be worried. Remembering that his sword shone fire, he summoned it again. Illuminated in the dark, was a bed.

Snorting, he cast aside the blanket. There lay a small child.